Chapter Text
In the end, Dally got the footage, just like Darry knew he would.
No one could doubt Dallas, Darry thought wryly. The court date was next Sunday.
“Darry, do you know where I left The Grapes of Wrath?” Pony called out from the living room, diving under the couch and swiping an arm, looking alarmingly cat-like. It was Sunday, and Darry was cleaning up the house with the help of Pony - who was constantly distracted by delightedly finding lost copies of old books - and Soda, who was fiddling with an old recorder. The gang had gone out with Tim’s outfit to go after the Socs that’d attacked Pony, not that the kid knew.
Darry eyed Pony and Soda’s room across the hall, littered with books and strewn clothes.
“Check your room - hey, there might even be Soda’s old maracas.” That was a big joke; Sodapop had lost those in the kitchen when he was nine and they weren’t ever found.
Pony snorted. “Sure, Dar,” he said sarcastically, but he went to go check anyways.
Darry smiled to himself. It wasn’t like it was rare to see Pony smile or laugh these days, but, well, it was a lot quieter. He’d cover his mouth when he smiled, smother a laugh, or try hard not to roll his eyes. And when any of the gang (Two-Bit) dramatically threw up their arms for flair (though they’d been cutting back on that lately), Pony would flinch back minutely and go about whatever he was doing, as though it was normal, controlling his features and smoothing his face.
It was such a Pony thing to do that it was painful.
Soda threw Darry a wide grin. “You know, if we - “
knock, knock, knock.
Dread twisted in Darry’s gut. The gang never knocked - hell, no greaser did. It was likely a social worker, and boy, if it wasn’t the worst time for that, the house a mess and -
10, 9, 8, he reminded himself, getting up and heading to the door. 7, 6, 5.
He swung the door open and pasted on a brilliant smile. It died immediately.
It was Donald Sheldon.
He was smiling at Darry, although it was painfully, obviously forced.
Darry’s mood soured.
Soda looked up from the towel he’d been clutching and glared furiously. He couldn’t believe Sheldon had the nerve to come here, after what his boys had done. Slowly, Soda pushed away the thoughts of what exactly he’d like to do to those Socs and pulled back the tense peace he always summoned when he wanted to punch in Steve’s dad but knew he couldn’t.
“May I come in?” Sheldon said, all forced politeness and hidden knives. Soda knew the type of people those Socs were - nasty and back-stabbing.
Darry looked about an inch from screaming his lungs out, but they couldn’t afford to be rude to the snob; he had connections that could make their life hell.
“Fine,” Darry grit out, stiffly taking a step back.
Sheldon took a seat on their couch gingerly.
He stank of corny cologne, Soda thought viciously, the snob.
“I’m sure you should like if I get straight to the point,” Sheldon drawled out pompously, leaning forward expectantly.
Instantly, Soda knew that he’d come about the court case, come to throw them off, come to scare them. He hid the recorder behind a cushion discretely, switching it on.
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Soda said instead, wanting to make Sheldon hurt, just like he’d made Pony. He wanted to Sheldon to know that he wasn’t safe here, but not in a million years could he prove it.
Sheldon’s smile grew tight. “I understand that you’ve mistaken my nephew - whose parents are deceased, by the way, you could spare some sympathy - to throw a fight against your brother, when he really was only roughhousing as boys do - “
Darry was red, looking comically like he was about to explode. “I think you’ve misunderstood, mister; I don’t know exactly why you’re here, or what you think you can accomplish by being here, but there is a court case for this - I suggest you best wait for that until you start spewing out your… tale.”
“You’ve hit the point, then,” Sheldon said, and now he looked smug. “I came to bring reason and show you that it needn’t be taken to such high measures - I’m sure it was very hard on you to bring it there, for a very noble reason of bringing what you think is justice to your brother. As it is, I’m sparing you the trouble.”
“What, you’ll turn your own nephew in for us?” Darry retorted, jamming his hands in his jeans.
He was getting stressed, Soda thought annoyedly, not even noticing his own hands twist in each other.
Sheldon flat out glared at them. “I’m offering you a price to let this blow over. Two hundred. You clearly need it.”
Darry was quiet for a long second, staring at Sheldon like he couldn’t believe him. When he didn’t say anything, Soda was about to curse that Soc out right then and there.
Then, Pony walked out of their room, waving the worn book victoriously. “Found it! I - oh,” he finished softly, looking at Sheldon. Soda wanted to tell him to go back, to stay the way he was, but it wasn’t fair. Pony was in this more than any of them.
“The instigator of this debacle, right here,” Sheldon snapped. He was apparently holding some feelings about this too. “I’m flattered.”
Pony flinched, harsh and back against the wall. His eyes were wide, and Soda could see his fists clenching. Immediately, Soda was pissed. No one got to do that to his brother.
“Get out,” Soda hissed, getting up and throwing an arm around Pony. He was trembling violently, his breath coming in short gasps. Pony curled into Soda’s touch, and he could feel his heart break a tiny bit.
“You’ll regret this,” Sheldon warned, getting up anyways. He narrowed his eyes at Darry. “Honestly, I don’t know why I even bothered with the likes of you - “
“Clearly, you were desperate enough,” Darry spat. He jerked his head towards the slightly ajar door, his eyes cold and mean.
Soda just kept on rubbing circles on Pony’s back, hating how thin he was. He eyed the recorder, thinking he’d go turn it off once this moron had fully left.
Sheldon turned from the door and spared a look towards Pony. “This won’t be the last you see of me, Greaser.”
The door shut, and Pony listed into Soda’s arms completely.
“M’sorry,” Pony whispered miserably into Soda’s shoulder, clutching him like a life line. “That was stupid of me, I know that - “
“It wasn’t stupid,” Darry said harshly, not seeing how Pony shut his eyes tightly.
Soda knew that this was Darry, unable to properly say what was on his mind but caring twice as much as any man, but still, he mouthed, ‘gentler, please.’
Darry just trailed off, looking away and standing awkwardly by the side. He never really fit in with Soda and Pony after their parents’ death. They had all changed, but he had changed a tiny bit more. (Of course, later at night, when all was quiet, he’d hug Pony tightly in his arms, thread his fingers through Pony’s hair, and maybe it was awkward, but he was there.)
After a moment of palpable tension, Pony weakly dropped, “they look alike.”
Soda had to fight damn hard not to run after Sheldon and throttle him just then.
“Hey, Ponyboy,” Cherry said softly. The were at one of the older parks, with only a swing-set and some dirty slides left. Pony was sitting by the side of the tall rails that held it up, leaning backwards on it and picking at some grass. His knees were up and his head was low. He looked defeated.
Cherry looked at the swing, looking at him. She sat next to him.
(There would be a thousand different stories, a thousand different people who sat on the swings and pushed each other, people who told secrets and wept tales. They were not those people. They didn’t sit on the swings.)
“Cherry,” Pony greeted quietly. It was broad daylight, the rays falling on their hair and trickling down to meet their skin, but it felt solemn and quiet; intimate, like the kiss of night.
She picked up a long strand of dying grass, took another. “I heard about the case,” she said, her tone near silent. Another strand, and she started to plait them along with a nearby daisy.
Pony tensed beside her; she could feel it. Cherry eyed his shaking hands absently. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she murmured, twisting the flower in. She swallowed. “I didn’t come hear to convince you to call it off, you know. That’s not right, I know that - I just, I thought - “
“I know, Cherry,” Pony turned to look at her, eyes soft and unguarded, and well, this is why she liked him. “I know.”
“I tried to see if I could stand as a witness again,” she said after a long moment. The flower crown was twisted with the stem of daisy slightly broken. She’d never been too good at this. “My parents wouldn’t let me. I came to tell you that I think what you’re doing is right, though. For you and for your Johnny. I’m glad for it.”
Pony hummed, put a hand over hers, squeezing once. The conversation about the court was over, they’ve said what they needed to. Cherry felt lost (sometimes, she imagined that’s what Pony felt like when he’d gone off with Cade, lost and alone and terrified of something he didn’t even know).
“Back at the drive-in,” Pony started, helping her peel off some stray grass stuck to the crown, “I thought I could fall in love with you.”
It came as a surprise to her - she’d thought she’d made an okay impression, not enough for that. He must've been real alone back then.
“Could you still?” Cherry asked softly. She didn’t know if she could.
“No,” Pony said after a pause. “We’re different people now.”
“That’s good then,” Cherry decided.
“Yeah,” he said, and he placed the daisy crown right atop her head.
There is daylight falling across their features, a history between them, and crown of flowers pulling them together.